


Memories

by drwilliamsherlockscottholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jealous Sherlock, Light Angst, Possessive Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-18 05:05:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7300678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwilliamsherlockscottholmes/pseuds/drwilliamsherlockscottholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been gone for 2 years but when he re-appears, how will you cope? </p><p>Post Reichenbach feels await.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories

You moved your hand to reach beside you and felt nothing but cold sheets. You opened your eyes and sighed. How long had it been now? Almost 2 years? More? Every day it felt like John was telling you all over again. He jumped. St. Barts. Lying on the ground. Dead. Every day it got harder. Every day you wished it had been you. Every day you wished that he hadn’t done it. Every day you hoped he was still alive, that it was all a joke, that it wasn’t one of Moriarty’s stupid fucking plots. That Sherlock Holmes hadn’t jumped from the top of St Bart’s Hospital and that you had instead.

You rolled over and moved your hand to wipe the newly formed tear from your eye. It hurt remembering him. It hurt to think about him, but you couldn’t stop and you couldn’t move on. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to. You could never stop loving him. Your Sherlock Holmes.

Just as you were thinking about him you heard a knock at the door and a voice

“Y/N? Are you awake? I’m coming in,” it was John. You smiled, just being around your brother made you feel better.

The wooden door opened and you looked up and smiled at him,

“Morning” you heard your broken voice say

“Y/N? Have you been crying again?” he said as he took a step into the room you had shared with Sherlock.

“Maybe” you sniffed

“I know you don’t want to get up, but Mary’s coming over in half an hour and I know she’d love to see you again, do you think you could come down and see her?”

You nodded and said only “I guess”.

And with that he stepped out of your room and closed the door. You sighed and sat up in bed. If only Sherlock was here with you. You pulled yourself out of bed and decided to get dressed. You decided on leggings and a baggy t-shirt as you knew you probably weren’t going to leave the house. You opened the door and began the walk to the living room.

The journey seemed to take years, everywhere you looked reminded you of _him_. You still couldn't get him out of your head. You didn't want to because if you did, it meant forgetting him.

You stumbled into the living room in a data and saw John sitting. He was sitting in his chair which left you only the sofa or Sherlock’s old chair. It hurt looking at it but you moved to sit in it anyway.

You sat in silence until there was a knock at the door. You moved to open it but John got there first.

“Mary! Come in, Y/N’s just over there” he waved his hand in your general direction.

“Hey Mary” you mumbled in a monotone voice.

She walked into the living room and hugged you and said:

“Y/N, do you want to do anything or just sit with me and have a girls day in?”

You didn't want to leave your flat and you didn't look in any state to but the promise of doing something that _might_ take your mind off of _him_ for even a second sounded incredibly appealing.

“I guess we could go to Speedy’s” you mumbled

“Y/N, that’s only next door. Why don’t we go shopping?” Mary suggested.

Shopping sounded nice enough. You could do with some new clothes.

“Sure, I guess” you replied

***************************

You returned from shopping armed with a collection of new outfits and, begrudgingly, a promise of a date. That had of course occurred because Mary invited Janine. Now, Janine was a great friend, but she attracted a lot of attention, men loved her and as you were with her, they loved you too. Only one man had been good enough for Mary and Janine to give your number to. You had to admit, he was handsome, but he was no Sherlock Holmes. He was good but he wasn’t good enough and you could see that anything between you would go no where.

“Just have a bit of fun then” Janine had laughed .

It was easy for her to say, she didn’t see her dead lover everywhere she turned her head. She didn’t lie in bed for days on end. She didn’t feel guilty. Because you felt like you were. If you had stopped him before he left. If you had kept him talking longer when he was about to leave before he met with Moriarty, maybe Moriarty would have gotten bored and left. If you had answered your phone maybe you could have convinced him everything would be alright. You could have done something .

You walked into the room that you knew so well, dropped your bags on the floor and threw yourself onto the bed. 

“Y/N, come on get dressed. He’s going to be here in an hour.” Mary said quietly, seeing you had thrown yourself onto the bed and were currently doing nothing but staring at the ceiling.

She walked in and began sorting through the bags. Out of one she pulled the red dress you had chosen earlier,

“This one?” She asked, but you knew it wasn’t a question as she held up a pair of black heels.

“Yes” you said as you pulled yourself off the bed reluctantly for the second time that day.

“What would you do without me?” She said smiling.

“Wallow in self-pity and sob over the not-so recently deceased?” you laughed and so did she, it was in no way a good joke but the truth, and the truth is often far funnier than anything else.

Mary ran into the bathroom to get your makeup bag whilst you changed. She came back and sat you down, armed with a considerable amount of makeup. Once she had done your makeup and chosen the correct shade of red you both began to sing along to music you could hear John playing and fell on the bed laughing until you heard a knock at the door.

“He’s here!” Mary squealed as if it was her date not yours.

You went downstairs to open the door as mary hid in the kitchen, listening to the conversation until she heard the door click.

He took you to a reasonably expensive restaurant and it should have been perfect. He made you laugh. You had forgotten how to laugh and how much fun it was. He was smart and could hold a conversation and he was charming. He was quite possibly the most charming person you had ever met. He was gorgeous and a gentleman and didn’t try to do anything except get to know you. But it just wasn’t right. It should have been perfect. But it wasn’t.

He kissed your cheek at the door and you gave him the promise of another date. You closed the door and slid down it. Should you be over Sherlock? But you didn’t want to be. Clint was fun but he just wasn’t Sherlock…

You went into your room and slumped onto the bed and for the third time that day, lying motionless, staring at the ceiling hoping your memories would consume you and tear you from the world again. You stayed that way for hours. 2, maybe 3? Time never seemed to matter anymore. You only moved when you heard a noise in the kitchen. Something had been knocked over. You picked up your previously discarded heel and attempted to brandish it as a weapon. You crept into the kitchen when you heard a voice say

“ **Hello** ”

It was his voice. But he was dead. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears.

Your voice wavered as you heard your self say the only words you could, “You’re dead.”

It was all you could think. You hoped this wasn’t a trick. This was what you had wished for. For two years you had wished for Sherlock. Were your ears lying? Was this real? Was this a dream? Was that dark figure standing in between the kitchen and the living room real? And more importantly was it him? Your head was full of questions.

The figure moved towards you and stopped in front of you. Before you could think you cupped the face in your hands and kissed it. It was him. You began to smile. He was alive. Your Sherlock Holmes was alive. You pulled away and slapped him. 

“Ow!” he exclaimed as he recoiled, “I deserved that didn’t I?”

“Yes” you laughed through the tears now streaming down your face.

He picked you up and asked, “A stiletto as a weapon? Really? All of my chemistry equipment and knives and you choose a stiletto?” He laughed and began moving to the bedroom. You had missed the sound of his voice so much. All you’d had for two years was a voicemail of him, telling you he was sorry. You had to fight John for your phone, forcing him to promise not to delete it. You felt like it was your fault. John told you it wasn’t but you could never bring yourself to believe him. 

“I never touched anything that was yours. Two years. I kept thinking you’d just come back through the door or I’d wake up and it would have just been a dream” your tears came faster

“Shhh. I’m here now. I promise, I won’t go anywhere ever. You’re mine and I love you.” He helped you undress and placed you under the covers, sliding in next to you. You moved next to him and let your head lay on his chest. He moved you closer and pulled you into a warm embrace. You fell asleep like that whilst Sherlock ran his hand over your arm, feeling scars he couldn’t see in the dark. The thought of you hurting yourself because of him made him feel guilty and so he pulled you closer, reassuring you that now he was here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the distinct lack of Sherlock, that'll change soon


	2. First Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You begin to remember your favourite memories...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********** ---> indicates the beginning/end of a memory

When you woke in the morning, your first thought was of last night. Of Sherlock. You smiled but then felt a pang in your chest, he’s dead. The same as he has been for two years. The smile fell from your face as you remembered the first time you had met…

**********************

You were visiting your brother for the weekend, straight out of uni. You wanted to know whether or not working in london was for you. You were about to knock on the black front door when it swung open and you were greeted by a friendly face.

“You must be Y/N Watson, I’m Mrs Hudson, the boys are upstairs. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Who was this? Did they have a housekeeper?

“Oh and I’m not their housekeeper, dearie” she said as if she had read your mind.

She invited you in and motioned towards the stairs of 221B. You took your small carry-on suitcase (you only planned on staying for a weekend) and began to climb the stairs. When you reached the door you began to knock and found it was ajar. You pushed it open and saw a tall figure sitting in a chair with his hands held to his face as if he was praying. So this was the famous Sherlock Holmes that John had told you about. His curls fell onto his face and he looked content and peaceful.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and looked at you. You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you managed to stammer

“T-The door was o-open. M-Mrs Hudson showed me up here”

He motioned for you to come in and you did.

“You’re not Harry. You’re not an alcoholic and he would have complained more about your visit for the weekend if you were Harry. So who are you? Judging by your bag you’re close to John and plan to stay the weekend. You’re not one of his girlfriends, he wouldn’t bring another here after last time. You appear to be dressed for comfort and are unaffected by John’s jackets scattered across the floor. So you’re very close to him but not a girlfriend. Best friend? No, you would have waited outside the door instead of looking in. So you’re family. A cousin? No you look too much like John for that. You stand the same and have the same mannerisms. That would make you his sister!” he rattled off, looking you over. Should you feel insulted? But he hadn’t said anything bad, besides it was probably a prank him and John had set up.

You heard footsteps behind you and saw John walking downstairs towards you.

“Sherlock, the bloody door’s open” he said as he was walking down the stairs, not yet seeing you, “Oh, I forgot to tell you Y/N’s coming later”

“Oh I know, she’s already here but I didn’t know her name” Sherlock said.

“Y/N!”

 John saw you and moved quickly towards you to pull you into a hug. He turned to Sherlock and asked in a stern voice

“Sherlock, what did you say to her? If I find out you’ve upset her I’ll break every bone in your body whilst naming them”

You began to laugh and so did the detective. He wasn’t as bad as everyone said he was, he wasn’t rude, just a bit strange. But good strange. Funny strange. Cute strange. 

“Sherlock you never laugh when I say that” John said, pulling you back to reality.

With that, Sherlock smiled at you and moved to sit back in his chair.

“Where will she be sleeping this weekend?” he asked.

You had never told him that but remembering his deductions earlier you guessed he could tell by the size of your bag how long you had planned to stay.

“I was going to sleep on the sofa, I don’t want to intrude” you replied to the question directed at John.

“Nonsense! You can have my room, I’ll go and clean up then you can bring your case in”

And with that he left, his blue dressing gown flapping behind him like a cape. It was quite funny so you giggled and he turned and smiled at you. John moved towards you and said

“He must like you, he doesn’t even let Mrs Hudson into his room and he adores her,” John said to you quietly so that Sherlock wouldn’t hear, then raised his voice again to ask, “How was your trip? Was Sherlock rude to you when you came in? Sorry I forgot to tell him. How are mum and dad? How-”

You cut him off by pulling him into a hug and said “I’ve missed you big brother.”

You stepped back and he said, grinning, “I’ve missed you too little sister.” 

*************************

You smiled at the memory, it was one of your favourites of him. You remembered how a weekend turned into a week, and a week turned into a month, and a month turned into years. All because John forgot to tell Sherlock that you were coming to stay and to make himself scarce.

You looked over to his side of the bed to check if he really was dead. Your dream last night had felt so real, as if he was really there. As if his arm had really been round your waist. As if you had really tried to attack him with a stiletto. As if you had really fallen asleep with his head on your shoulder, listening to him breathe and hearing him whisper to you in his sleep. None of it was real.

You sighed and pulled yourself out of bed. As you did that you heard someone in the kitchen. It was probably Mrs Hudson making you tea, you weren’t usually up early enough to see her actually make the tea and it still be hot when you receive it. You took out Sherlock’s old purple shirt (it was always your favourite) and put it over your arms, carefully doing up the buttons. This always reminded you of him and made you feel like he was holding you tightly, telling you that everything was going to be ok, even though you knew it wouldn’t be without him. 

You stepped out of your room and began walking down the hallway, stopping when you saw him. It wasn’t a dream. He really had been there last night. He really had held you close. He really had slept next to you. He really was standing in the kitchen making breakfast. He had only ever made you breakfast once, a birthday surprise. That surprise didn’t work very well…

******************************

It was your birthday. This was the first time you’d be celebrating it with him. You hadn’t wanted him to make a big deal about it. Well, that’s what you had told him. In reality, you wanted breakfast in bed. You wanted to spend all day with him, watching movies, walking through London and enjoying each other’s company. You had wanted him to shower you with affection but he was Sherlock Holmes. He believed love was a chemical defect and a disadvantage. He wouldn't understand and you wouldn't want him to suffer through what he would think to be a tedious day because of you. No, it would be better for him to enjoy himself rather than be bored by you.

You had woken up just like it was any other normal day. Your heart sunk slightly as you realised it really was going to be nothing special, just another day. He hadn’t noticed the uncertainty in your voice when you’d told him that you didn’t want anything special. You moved your hand over to his side of the bed and noticed it felt cold. Great. He didn’t even wake you to say goodbye this morning. All you wanted was to spend the day with him. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and moved to put on one of his shirts. You figured that if he was on a case, he wouldn’t notice, besides it was your birthday.

As you opened the door to the hallway, you silently prayed that John was with Sherlock and that he hadn’t his most girlfriend (Sarah? Clara? Jenny?) wasn’t over, after all, all you were wearing was your underwear and one of Sherlock’s shirts. Not your best look, but comfy and since you had no plans, perfect. You started down the hall and heard a noise in the kitchen and could just about see someone in the lounge. You hoped it was Mrs Hudson. If it was John and whatever-her-name-was, you were screwed. This was not how you wanted to meet your brother’s latest girlfriend, not that you had wanted to meet her since Sherlock had only given them 3 weeks at the most but more likely half that. 

You decided to risk it and continue down the hall, praying to every god you knew that it was Mrs Hudson. You only wanted cereal! Getting a bowl of cereal shouldn’t be this stressful. You made your way into the kitchen and saw Mrs Hudson move over to Sherlock who was currently attempting to cook.

“Oh Sherlock, you’re going to burn it! Let me do it dear!” She cooed at him.

“Mrs Hudson, I am making Y/N breakfast not you.” He said to her sternly.

“At least let me tell you how to do it then, you’re going to burn the eggs!”

This was too much for you, and you burst into laughter. Sherlock Holmes, self-professed genius and the world’s only consulting detective, was unable to cook eggs.

His head whipped around to see you, “Y/N, you’re up” he said, “I was going to make you breakfast in bed.”

He put toast in the toaster and set the timer then moved towards you, gently kissing you.

You giggled and said “You really didn’t have to”

“Yes I did, I could tell you wanted to spend the day with me, besides, can’t I treat you every once in a while?”

Just as you were about to answer him you recognised the smell of burning toast and so you both ran to the toaster. You were not prepared for what you saw. The toast was on fire. There were flames coming off of the toast. There were flames coming out of the toaster. He had actually set it on _fire_.

“Sherlock!” screeched Mrs Hudson, “do something!”

He turned the toaster off at the plug whilst you fetched a wet tea towel and handed it to him. He flicked it at the flames then dropped it on them. The smothered flames quickly went out and you burst out laughing again.

“What?” He asked.

“You! You’re wonderfully hopeless, you can identify every type of tobacco just by looking at it and tell me how tall someone was just by looking at their footprint but you can't cook!” You giggled.

He looked hurt and said “I can’t do _everything_ Y/N”

“Oh, Sherlock I wouldn’t want you to, I love that you can’t cook but tried anyway. I love how you asked Mrs Hudson to help you. I love everything you do. I love you.” You looked into his eyes as you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him close.

Mrs Hudson interrupted you by saying, “Sherlock dearie, are you going to continue cooking and making mess or shall I go downstairs?” 

You turned to Mrs H and said “I’ve got it from here Mrs H, thanks for trying.”

“Oh that’s alright dear, happy birthday” she smiled at you as she walked out.

Just then the smoke alarm went off again. 

“Sherlock!” you laughed in unison with Mrs Hudson’s cry.

“I’m fixing it!” he said as he pulled the pan with the eggs off the hob and threw it into the sink, running cold water over it.

You had only been up for 10 minutes, there’d already been 2 fires, Sherlock had admitted he wasn’t the best at everything, you had collapsed laughing almost five times and the day hadn’t even started yet. You knew that it was going to be your best birthday yet…

**************************


End file.
